For Love of the Game
by Guiney-vere
Summary: I wrote this a long time ago, assuming nothing after S2 ever happened. Pacey's a baseball player but something is going to jeopardize both his career and his life. R
1. FLOTG 1

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For Love of the Game   
Chapter 1: **_Let It All Begin_**

By Guinevere

Disclaimer: I don't own, nor do I have anything to do with Dawson's Creek, the WB, or anything associated with DC. Please don't sue, I'm just writing a simple fanfic. However, I do claim ownership of all characters that aren't owned by Kevin Williamson, or that aren't real.   
**Author's Notes**: Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks go out to Holly and Becci and my brother Ryan, for without whose love of the game I could not have written this. 

Bases are loaded with two outs here in the bottom of the ninth at Fenway. Witter is stepping up to the plate. With a .366 average and 32 home runs, he is almost certain to hit the game-saving grand slam," Tom White narrated to the listeners. 

Meanwhile, Pacey Witter made his way to the box. He stopped just outside to gather his thoughts. The usual concentration he had during games had been shattered. Doc Pappas, the team's medical director, had just informed him of his test results from earlier in the day. 

He had been to see Dr. Johnson that morning to have a yearly check-up. What transpired caused Pacey to think Johnson was a crazy, truly insane man. 

Dr. Johnson had found an unusual lump in Pacey's right arm. After a few probes, the lump was upgraded to a tumor. Pacey knew he shouldn't waste any time, so he got a biopsy on the spot. 

And now Pappas knew the outcome: a malignant tumor, which, more than likely, was cancerous. 

Jimy Williams, the team manager, was the only other person, besides Pacey and Pappas, who knew anything. Pacey wanted to keep it that way. 

But now, Pacey had to worry about something else: hitting a home run, and saving his team from an unpleasant 10-12 loss to the Yankees. For a confidence booster, Pacey looked out to the field. There stood some of his best friends: Shawn Becker, the second baseman, standing on first; Wilton Veras, the third baseman, edging towards third; and Trot Nixon, the rightfielder, with an eager gaze directed towards home plate. 

Pacey stepped into the box, ready for whatever Hernandez would throw his way. He got into the stance and waited for the ball. Hernandez wound up, stepped, and threw; a dead-center fastball and a strike. Pacey decided it would be better to shut everything out; the noise, the glares - everything. 

Hernandez released again; a perfect curveball and strike two. Now Pacey needed to pray Hernandez would give him a ball, and time enough to prepare. 

Hernandez took off his hat, wiped his forehead, and replaced it. Nerves were getting to him now too. He threw the pitch, and thank God, it was a high one; ball one. 

Pacey stepped back and stood tall. Nothing could save him now, except pure luck. He had to hit the next ball no matter what. Something caught his eye as he looked around. Just below the announcers' box was the number nine: Ted Williams' retired number. 

Williams was, along with Carl Yastrzemski, Pacey's favorite Red Sox player. He had sat for days in the archive room of Fenway watching old newsreels just to see Williams play. It had always been Pacey's dream to meet him, but now he felt a unique connection. Sort of like having Ted Williams standing over your shoulder, telling you exactly what to do. 

Williams had once said the players did not take hitting seriously. At this moment, there wasn't a thing in the universe, that could be altered, that would make Pacey miss this hit. 

Hernandez wound up and released. Pacey could hear a voice saying, "If all else fails, count the laces son." Pacey counted; and counted; and counted some more, until the ball was directly in front of him. It seemed as though time was standing still. Pacey swung and connected with the ball. He extended, hoping to give it that extra edge, and dropped the bat. But he didn't run; he stood, and watched the ball glide through the air. It flew, as if it had grown wings. It didn't stop until it caught in the net above the wall that was so affectionately named the Green Monster. 

Pacey could round the bases now, with a grin from ear to ear. He slapped hands with the base coaches as he passed them by. Rounding third, Veras, Becker and Nixon stood waiting for him. Pacey half-hugged all three, then jogged with them to meet the rest of their team. Hard-hearted Jimy stopped and waited for Pacey with open arms. 

Pacey walked to him, and hugged him. Over the past four years, while Pacey was on reserve in the Pawtucket roster, so he could go to college, Jimy had become like a second father; making sure he was keeping up with his exercises, hitting at his usual average, even doing his homework. Now, with the grave medical news, Jimy was so proud of Pacey, that he could rise above this illness, even if it had just struck him. 

Jimy released Pacey, and his teammates surrounded him. Pats on the back, high fives and shouts followed. 

"Nice hit Witter," Brian Daubach said. 

"I swear, the Golden Arm," Lou Merloni continued the running joke. 

"You've got that right Lou," Jose Offerman agreed. 

"Witter, you hit that ball like I've never seen done before," Jason Varitek put in. 

"Nicely done Wit," Corey Bennett added. 

"Let's hope you never get injured," Nomar Garciaparra half joked. Pacey froze, and Nomar noticed. "Hey, I was kidding. They said it to me all the time. But then, bad example. Look at me now." Nomar's right arm was out of commission for the entire season. He had needed a total elbow replacement, and had to sacrifice his position for the disabled list. Pacey had been brought up to replace him. 

"Ease up kid, you did great," Troy O'Leary told him. 

At that moment, the stands erupted in cheers of, "Witter, Witter!" Pacey took that as his cue to go wave to the departing crowd. He stepped back on to the field and they went crazy. 

And then the reporters came. In hordes, they swarmed not only Pacey, but Nomar as well. The two stood side-by-side as Bob Lancaster, one of the most well-known sportscasters interviewed them. 

"Nomar, we're all wondering, when will you be back on the field?" 

"Well, the future where this season is concerned looks pretty grim. There is the slightest possibility that I may play by September, but I doubt it. This replacement will take time, not to mention the recurring hamstring problem." Nomar answered his questions perfectly all the time. 

"And Pacey, how do you think your doing so far this season? That grand slam was amazing." 

"Thank you. I'd like to think I'm doing pretty well so far. Believe it or not, that hit ended the hitting slump I was in." Pacey was nervous, trying to keep a straight face. 

"Nomar, what do you think of your 'replacement'?" This was the question Pacey had been dreading since spring training. 

"Pacey? He's phenomenal. I couldn't have hoped for a better person to take my spot. This kid is truly amazing," Nomar finished with a grin and put his arm around Pacey's shoulders. That wasn't the answer Pacey had expected. 

"I wholeheartedly agree. Thank you both." The camera stopped rolling and Bob shook hands with Nomar and Pacey. 

They both started to make their way to the locker room. Nomar looked sideways at Pacey and caught the twisted look on his face. "What's up Wit?" 

Pacey looked up, jolted out of his own reverie. "Huh? Oh, nothing." 

"No way, you're not getting off that easy. What did Pappas tell you before you went up to bat?" 

"You saw that?" 

"Well yeah. When your a long-term DL you notice a lot of things about your team. Are you hurt?" 

"No, well, not really. At least I don't think I am." 

"Then what made you so freaked after you talked to Pappas?" 

"He told me I got my test results back from the doctor. That's it." Pacey wasn't giving it up that easily. 

"Hey, I'm supposed to be your mentor, your father figure, even if I'm only eleven years older. You've got to tell me." 

He couldn't hold it any longer; it was true, Nomar was like an older brother to him. "Pappas told me I've probably got cancer." 

Nomar stopped and held Pacey back from the locker room. "What? Where? How long?" 

"My arm. They don't know how long it's been there. Dr. Johnson wants me to come back tomorrow for some more tests." 

"Good thing we're off tomorrow. You tell the girl yet?" By 'the girl', he meant Pacey' girlfriend. 'The girl' was the nickname all of Pacey's friends had given her. 

"Yeah, she was with me. But she doesn't know it might be cancerous. Pappas just found out in the bottom of the ninth." 

"Now that really sucks. Sorry if that's blunt, but it does." 

"Yeah, it bites." 

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, if you can't handle it anymore and you need to talk, you know I'll listen." 

"Yeah, I know. Thanks Nom." 

"No problem Wit. Come on, put on a happy face," Nomar finished in song. They laughed and continued their trek to the locker room. 

********************** 

Pacey had changed quickly and dodged the many invites to go out and party. He jumped into his car, an old, beat-up Volvo which no normal Major League player would drive, and raced toward the freeway. 

Twenty minutes later, despite the unusually heavy traffic, Pacey pulled into the driveway of the plush Beacon Hill brownstone he called home. He was immediately greeted by his next door neighbor, Walker Madison. The sixteen-year-old jumped when he saw him. "Hey, Pacey, nice game tonight." 

"Thanks Walker. How's your mom doing today?" Walker's parents were both lawyers, and his mother was currently in labor with her second child. 

"She's doing good. The kid is taking an awfully long time to get out though; thirty-seven hours and counting." 

"Good Lord. I'm glad men can't have children. Well, tell her I said hi." 

"I will. 'Night Pacey." 

"Good-night Walker." Pacey opened the door, looked in, and was instantly glad he had tomorrow off. 

The brown-headed beauty known as 'the girl' was sitting at her desk, her head propped up on her hand, diligently typing on her computer. She obviously hadn't heard the door open, or shut, so Pacey tapped on the wall behind her. She jumped and turned. 

"Pacey! You scared me." 

"Sorry," Pacey said grinning. "What are you writing tonight?" 

"Nothing exciting, just an evaluation of one of the new actors I spotted today." 

"What?!? No bestseller? No Pulitzer-winning speech? My God, I'm flabbergasted." 

"Funny, very funny." 

"I know, I should have been a comedian. So, how was your day?" 

"Good, but certainly not as good as yours, Mr. Grand Slam, 33 home runs." 

"Hey, all in a days work. But really now, did you cast the next Tom Hanks? Or even better, the next Kevin Costner?" Clearly this conversation was going good, and Pacey didn't want to spoil it with the bad news, so he went along as if everything was normal. 

"I had screen tests all day, and no one was any good. But I met Jack at Hard Rock for lunch, and the kid two tables away just had this look about him. So I asked him to come down to the office, and I screen tested him, and he was perfect. His name is Derik Proctor, he's 16, and he has never acted before. He was brilliant; I wouldn't be surprised if he was making his acceptance speech at the Oscars by next March." 

"That's awesome. And I can say I knew the famous talent scout who discovered Derik Proctor way back when." She was a casting director for Miramax, and a damn good one at that. She had gotten the job by a pure stroke of luck when she had interned at their Boston headquarters in the screenplay department. She suggested an unknown actor for a role in a film, and they had happened to be perfect, so she got a trial job. She continued to do well, so she was hired full-time. 

"You know as well as anyone that I'd rather be known for my writing than my casting abilities." 

"Okay then, I can say I knew the writer who was once a casting director who discovered Derik Proctor way back when." 

"Not funny," she retorted with a grin, throwing a pillow at Pacey. 

"All right, so I knew the extraordinary writer Joey Potter way back when." 

"Thank you. And I knew the greatest baseball player of our time, Pacey Witter, way back when. Sounds good to me." Joey grinned, but Pacey's smile had faded. "What's wrong?" 

"Well, I may not make it to be one of the greats." 

"What do you mean?" Joey asked warily. 

"Johnson called Pappas and told him that it was malignant. It might be cancerous." 

"But their going to test some more, right?" 

"Yes, we have to go in tomorrow morning. But you have to work, so I'll just call Doug, or Dawson, or Jack, or somebody to come with me." 

"Not a chance, I'm coming with you. All the Derik Proctors in the world couldn't keep me away." 

"Thanks Jo." 

"No expressions of appreciation needed. Now on a lighter note, Jilly is walking." 

"Really? When did this start?" Jilly, short for Jillian, was Jen and her boyfriend John's infant daughter. 

"Yep. When John brought her home today, he sat her down and she started to walk away. They both called me up crying, they were so happy. Wouldn't that be so great?" 

"Yes, it would, but you must remember that you said that, after Alex, you were never going to be within five yards of a baby again in your life." 

"Yeah, but I've changed my mind. I don't know, I just want something that is you and me." 

"And that's why we have a car: everything you want and everything I want, all in one." Pacey was joking, of course, because he wanted a child more than anything in the world. But they were only twenty-two, and they both had full-time careers. Having a baby had worked out for Jen because she owned her own store, and John was an internet advertiser, so they could both work at home. 

"Pacey, you know what I mean. Can I be perfectly honest?" 

"You always are," Pacey grinned. 

"I was thinking about it, your tumor, and, this sounds totally morbid and weird, but I would want something to remind me of you if, well, you know..." 

Pacey did know; he would want the same thing if there was a possibility of her dying. "Yeah. But look at it this way: what if I'll be fine? Are we really ready for this? If I am fine, then I'd be traveling from April until October. And could you take care of a baby on your own?" 

"Those are things that are so trivial. Think about this: a brown-headed, blue-eyed, eight-pound, little boy or girl Witter." 

Now she was going to drag it out of him; she wanted him to give in. "Joey, what about the hereditary cancer, the bad temper, the cynicism..." 

"The optimism, the outspokenness, the really good genes. Pacey..." Joey pleaded. 

"You don't have to sell me on this, because I'm already sold. I want a baby as bad as you, but I just don't think we could handle it, especially not with this. I could freeze sperm, but ethically, I don't like it. I just don't think right now is the best time." 

"You know, you're right. But I think it would be so great Pacey." 

"As do I. Come on, it's 11:15. Let's go to bed." 

"You go, I've got one more line, and then I'm finished." 

"Hurry up." Pacey started slowly up the stairs, knowing it was more likely one more page than one more line. But that would give him a little time to think on his own. 

Deciding on a shower, Pacey turned the water on full force, stripped and got in. His thoughts started to lean towards the past, and how his life had come to this climax. He had been sixteen, and deeply in love with Andie McPhee. Joey was lost in her own world with Dawson, and Jen and Jack had made their own group of two. Then it all came crashing down. 

Dawson and Joey broke up over trust issues, Pacey and Andie broke up over the always popular we-grew-apart issue, and Jen and Jack had their own falling out because of spending too much time together and ultimately driving each other mad. It was at that time that Pacey began to take his frustrations out with a bat. He spent hours upon hours at the Capeside batting cages, constantly hitting, pretending whatever it was that bothered him was tucked inside that ball. 

At the same time, Joey branched away from painting to write. She wrote everything; her frustrations taken out on a piece of paper. She and Dawson, after a lot of work, couldn't make it past friends, so that is what they remained. Jack became her confidant, oddly enough, taking the place of Dawson. 

And then came Jen and her place in this mess. After her issues with Jack were resolved, she began to hang out with Pacey more. By the time baseball tryouts came, she had convinced Pacey that trying out would be in his best interest, and even practiced with him. He made it, no surprise to the outsiders of his crew, and became quite the small-town hero, with Jen backing him up all the way. 

Naturally, with Jack being Joey's chum and Jen being Pacey's familiar, Joey and Pacey were brought together. One or two nights a week hanging out with the other four gradually evolved into four or five nights alone together. When Junior prom rolled around, Joey and Pacey were the 'IT' couple of Capeside High. And so they remained for the next five-and-a-half years. 

During the spring of Senior year, when scouts were checking out high school players, Pacey had noticed a man that kept coming to his games. He couldn't have possibly been a fan of the terribly bad Minutemen, so he must have been there for one player in particular. He introduced himself, in the last game of the season, as Roger Brock, scout for the Boston Red Sox. 

This created a problem for the Boston University-bound Pacey. Roger thought Pacey was so good that he was willing to put him as a designated hitter on the major league team. But Pacey was determined to get a college degree, so he requested a meeting with Jimy Williams, Major League Manager for the team. Much to his surprise, he not only got the meeting, but Jimy met Pacey at the newly restructured IceHouse II. Jimy had seen tapes of Pacey, and wanted him on the team, no matter what. 

When Pacey explained his desire to go to college, Jimy wholeheartedly understood. A deal was cut, saying that Pacey would sign with the Red Sox, and play on the Pawtucket triple-A team until he graduated. 

And that's what Pacey did. He went to BU, with Joey close by at Harvard, and played baseball for the Pawsox. In the spring of 2005, Pacey struggled with the double-duty of his finals and spring training. Nomar had just had his operation, and it became clear that he wouldn't be able to play. Lou Merloni, his back up was also injured, so Pacey had been called in for the job. Exactly nineteen days before graduation, he played in his first Major League game as # 2, Witter, the shortstop, and third in the batting order. Pacey also finished up with college all right, graduating near the top of his class with a B.A. in English literature and Political Science. 

Pacey had been playing now for two and a half months. The All-Star game was only two weeks away, and Pacey had been noted as most likely to be the starting shortstop. Players would be announced tomorrow morning. 

Tomorrow morning, just before he had to be at the hospital. Of course, if he was picked, he would have to stop by Fenway on his way to the hospital to issue some sort of statement, but that was beside the point. Tomorrow would be a strange day; he would have the best day of his career, and the worst day of his life. 

To Be Continued


	2. FLOTG 2

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For Love of the Game   
Chapter 2: **_The Good..._**  
By Guinevere

Disclaimer: I own some of the characters, but I don't own any of the Dawson's Creek characters, nor do I own any of the real MLB players. I own the concept of this story, but I don't own the title. What I own is pretty much nothing. 

Pacey was in a deep sleep, and enjoying it, when he began to hear his name. Someone was shaking him, and telling him to wake up. The voice was Joey, and it was her hands doing the shaking. 

"Pacey! Wake up!" Joey yelled as a last effort, trying to get him to wake up. 

Pacey's eyes shot open, and he half sat up. "What...?" he asked confused. He listened as Joey pointed to the radio that sat beside him. 

"In other news this morning, the roster for the upcoming All-Star game has been announced. Taking the mound for the American League will be Pedro Martinez in his twelfth appearance for the Red Sox. Also appearing for the Red Sox will be Sal Tocci as an relief pitcher, Shawn Becker as the second baseman, Wilton Veras as alternate third baseman, Troy O'Leary as outfielder, and no surprise to anyone, Pacey Witter as shortstop for the American League." 

It took a moment for the words to register any meaning in Pacey's head. He froze and then jumped up. He wasn't sure what to do. "I...It's...my God Joey, I did it!! I'm playing in the All-Star game!!" 

Joey, by then was standing too, and took Pacey's hand. "I know, you're playing Pacey!" 

Pacey started shaking Joey's hand, took the other, and shook it too. "Good God, I'm playing! Joey, I'm playing! I've got to call Mom, and Doug, and Jen, and Jack, and Dawson, and....everybody! Joey, I'm playing in the game!" 

"Calm down slugger, I know. Your shaking my arms off!" 

"Sorry," Pacey dropped her hands. "I'm officially an All-Star. This is so great. I wish Dad were here." Pacey's smile faded as he thought of how proud his father would have been. 

"So do I. He would be so happy Pace." When Pacey had begun playing baseball, he and his father began communicating again. They had transcended the past, and become best friends. John Witter had died three years ago of skin cancer, and Pacey hadn't been the same since. 

"Okay, enough of that. I have to call Mom." Joey passed Pacey the phone and he dialed. "Mom? Are you awake?" 

The groggy voice on the other end took a moment to reply. "Yes Pacey, I am now." 

"Mom, you'll never believe it." 

"Never believe what? You aren't going to make me guess, are you?" 

"No, 'cause you wouldn't believe it. I, your son Pacey, was picked to be the starting shortstop in the All-Star game." 

His mother shot upright in her bed and almost dropped the phone. "You what?!?" 

"I'm playing in THE game," Pacey was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. 

"My son, Pacey Witter? This isn't some sick joke, is it Pacey?" 

"No Mom, I'm playing. Here, talk to Joey while I go call Doug." Pacey handed the phone to Joey 

"Hi Mrs. Witter." 

"Oh stop, will you please? Maggie, Joey, call me Maggie. I've been telling you that for years. Now, is my boy serious?" 

"Yes, very serious. Turn on the morning news. I'm sure Mrs. Leery will say something about it." 

"All right, hold on one moment." Joey waited, and she could hear Pacey yelling at Doug from the kitchen. 

"No dipwad, I'm serious! Yes, I'm playing!" Pacey yelled at his older brother. Joey had to laugh at him. 

"Joey?" Maggie asked, coming back on the phone. 

"I'm here." 

"Gail just said that Pacey was playing in the game. She's crying on-air! I can't believe it, my son." Maggie sounded like she was starting to cry herself. 

"He did very well." 

"Just think Joey! Pacey, our Pacey, was picked by millions of people as their favorite shortstop. That makes a mother very proud of her son." 

"You're telling me. I'm so proud I could burst." 

"If only John were here, he'd be so pleased." Again, there was a silent moment as both remembered. 

"Joey, Joey, Joey!! I'm playing!" Pacey came running in to the room and took the phone from her. 

"Mom, I'll call you later, I have to call everyone else. Oh, and when Doug calls, convince him I was telling the truth." 

"I will. Congratulations Pacey." 

"Thanks Mom. 'Bye." Pacey pressed the 'off' button and threw the phone on the bed. He picked up Joey and started spinning around. "I feel like I've won the lottery. This is so awesome!" 

"It is that. I'm getting kind of dizzy Pace, could you put me down?" Pacey stopped spinning, but didn't let her go. 

"I feel like I'm forgetting something." Pacey stopped to think, and then remembered where he had to go. "Dr. Johnson's office." Pacey put Joey down, and sat on the edge of the bed. 

Joey noticed his sudden change in attitude. She sat beside him and put her arm around him. "Don't let that get in the way. You've finally gotten the ultimate proof that you've always wanted. You are a good player, so don't let some tests ruin it." 

"You're right. I'll deal with that when I get there. Right now I have to get dressed, call everyone else, and go down to the field. Johnson can wait until nine o'clock." 

"That's the spirit Wit," Joey playfully punched Pacey and he grinned back. 

"You sound just like Nomar did last night." 

"He and I, we're cut from the same cloth I guess. Neither of us can bear to see you in anything but good spirits." 

"Do you know how much I love you?" 

"No, I don't think I know exactly how much. You going to tell me?" 

Pacey spread his arms out as far as he could. "See this much? Double that, multiply it by infinity, and that's how much I love you." 

Joey laughed and kissed his forehead. "You are such a dork Pacey." 

"And you love me. But hey, at least I've got a sense of humor." 

"That you do. Go on, get dressed so we can go." 

"What disguise should I wear today?" It was common for Pacey to wear a hat, sunglasses and a t-shirt with a team that no one knew so that he wouldn't be recognized. 

"I'm thinking you should go out as Pacey today, and bask in your glory for once. Jeans, white t-shirt and a Boston hat." 

"I like your thinking Potter. That's a good idea." 

"What can I say, I'm not just a literary genius, but an all-around genius. Now hurry up." 

"Yes ma'am!" Pacey saluted, and dashed for the bathroom. 

Joey stepped into the closet and pulled down a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and Pacey's baseball hat. Nothing wrong with a little team-spirit, especially when he was going to make his statement of gratitude. She placed the clothes on the bed and went down to the kitchen just as the phone began to ring. 

"Hello?" Joey asked, picking up the phone 

"Hi Joey, is Pacey there, or is he out in the middle of the street screaming?" It was Shawn Becker, Pacey's best friend, and he had obviously heard the news. 

Joey laughed, "Hey Shawn, congrats are in order. And no, Pacey's here, but he's in the shower. Hold on and I'll go get him." 

"No, that's okay, I'll call later." 

"Okay, I'll tell him you called." 

"Wait, Joey, um...do you think he'd mind if I came with you guys?" Pacey had told Joey the night before that only Pappas, Jimy and Nomar knew anything about his visit to Dr. Johnson. 

"How did you know?" 

"I overheard Pappas telling him." 

"Not to be interrogative, but how could you overhear if you were on base?" 

"It was right before I went up to the plate. All I know is that he has to see a doctor today about a tumor." 

"Good ears Becker. I don't think he'd mind if you came. When are you going down to make your statement?" 

"I'm leaving in about half an hour. When are you guys going?" 

"As soon as I'm dressed. We'll meet you there?" 

"I'll be waiting." 

"Bye." 

"Bye Joey." 

"Who was that?" Pacey asked entering the room in just his jeans. 

"Shawn. He wants to come to Dr. Johnson's with us." 

"How did he know about it?" 

"He overheard you guys before he went up to bat. You really should inform Pappas that his voice carries, especially in the dugout." 

"I'll remember that. You said yes?" 

"Yeah, is that okay?" 

"It's fine. I would have had to tell him eventually, so I guess it's better this way." 

"He's meeting us at the field. I'm going to get dressed now, so try to contain yourself while I'm gone," Joey grinned and kissed him on her way by. 

Pacey picked up the phone the second he heard the bathroom door shut and dialed Jen's number. 

"Hello?" the groggy voice asked. 

"Good Morning Jen Lindley!" Pacey yelled in a perfect imitation of Robin Williams in 'Good Morning, Vietnam'. 

"Go to bed Pacey. Leave me alone." 

"Sorry, no can do. Turn on the tv; ESPN, NESN, Fox News, CNN, anything!" 

"Okay, just stop yelling." There was a pause as Jen got up from her bed and turned on the tv. Then, "What am I looking for? Jockeys, race cars, Michael Jordan playing golf - again. If there's any relevance to our everyday lives here, I'm out of the loop." 

"Wait one more second..." as Pacey listened attentively to Jen's tv, he could

hear Jilly crying. "Wake up Old Man John and tell him to get Jilly. You still watching?" 

"Yes, I'm watching. John, Jilly's crying." 

Pacey could hear John mumbling and then he heard it: Jen's breath caught. Two seconds later, Jen seemed to be hyperventilating. "Breathe Lindley, breathe." 

"You....good Lord....you...Pacey....Witter...you're....Pacey....All-Star..." 

"Yes, yes, very good. Now say it with me: Pacey, you're playing in the All-Star game." Pacey laughed as he coached, knowing that if either Jen or Joey were near, they'd slap him. 

"You're playing! My friend Pacey is the starting shortstop for the American League in the All-Star game. John! Pacey got it! He's playing!" Then Jen seemed to come back to reality. "You moron! You called me at 6 in the morning for this? You woke up Jilly for this?" 

"Actually, 6:45, and yes, I did. Do you hate me?" 

Jen laughed in spite of herself. "Yes, you're a horrible, no good, awful person Pacey Witter. So, who have you called?" 

"Mom, Doug, you. That's it." 

"Pacey, this is so awesome. Doesn't it make you want to run out in the middle of the street screaming?" 

"Yes, but I have express orders to contain myself while Joey's in the shower. Can't disobey her, you know that." 

"Yeah, I agree with her on that. No doubt you'd be terrorizing Boston if she didn't keep a tight leash on you." 

"Hey, I'm a good boy...usually." 

"Oh really? What about the one thousand bats in the Ice House parking lot when you made the team? And what about that wild party you had when Brock signed you? Or the spray-painted 'Witter Rocks' on Main Street in front of the police station when you found out you were playing in that major league game? Seems to me that you get crazy only when it involves baseball." 

"Those are bad examples. Have a little faith in me Jen, I'm twenty-two now." 

"The older you get, the crazier get, in my opinion. Just make sure the door is locked so your evil side can't get loose." 

Pacey heard the beep, signaling someone on the other line. "I have no evil spirit. I've got to go now, someone's on the other line." 

"All right, call me later." 

"Will do. 'Bye." 

"'Bye Witter." 

Pacey pushed the button that would take him to the other line and said, 

"Hello?" 

"Witter, how does it feel?" Of course, it was Nomar, who had played in eight All-Star games himself. 

"It feels mighty nice Nomar. On your first time, did you feel like you had just broke a world record?" 

"Won the Olympics, swam the English Channel, set a world record, and raced the Tour de France, all in one. What you've got is nothing." 

"I don't know; this is an amazing feeling." 

"And it only gets better. Wait until you're playing among the greats. And be assured, every retired baseball player that ever mattered will be watching you, thinking either your awful, or your the best thing since Babe Ruth. What's the g- Joey think?" 

"She's excited, maybe even more than I am because she can forget about the tumor until it's time to face it." 

"Don't let that bring you down, forget about it until your sitting in the doctor's office, waiting to go in." 

"Joey said basically the same thing." 

"What can I say? We share a common telepathic wavelength." 

"Too true." 

"I've got a question for you kid." 

"What?" 

"When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and ask Joey to marry you? If I was five years younger, and not married myself, I'd have a ring on her finger in two seconds flat." 

"It's not that easy. I'm waiting for the right time." 

"Six years isn't long enough? You've been going out with her for six years! I asked Hilary to marry me after six months." 

"I've got the ring, so it's not like I don't know that she's the one. I just don't know when to do it. Maybe you're right, maybe I should do it. Let's just drop it for now, okay?" 

"Okay. So, what's the statement?" 

"Haven't thought about it yet. I'm going down as soon as Jo's ready though, so I better get cracking. Any suggestions?" 

"Make sure you thank the millions who voted for you. Never forget that part." 

"No way could I forget them." 

"Good luck, in both places today. Let me know how it goes with Johnson." 

"I will. 'Geez, you've got good timing, Joey's coming down the stairs right now." 

"I'm punctual. See you later Wit." 

"Yeah, talk to you later. 'Bye." 

Joey came in fully dressed with a pair of Pacey's sneakers in hand. "Since you're going as Pacey Witter today, you'd better wear these. Adidas does endorse your cleats, and you'd look pretty bad if you didn't wear them." 

"Can't argue with that logic. I'll be down in a minute." 

Joey picked up the phone and dialed Jack, figuring he should be the next to know, even if he had already heard it. 

"Jack McPhee on the line," Jack said picking up. 

"Jack, you really need something better. Try 'hello' next time." 

"I might, but I like my way. So what's up?" 

"Don't pretend you don't know McPhee." 

"Hmm...what is it that I'm supposed to know? President Churchill passed another health care reform bill, the 2012 Olympics are going to be in Patagonia, and those damned Russians are at it again. That's all the current news I've heard." 

"Sure, he who insists on getting up at 5:30 just to hear the news five times before work doesn't know what happened?" 

"Oh yeah! The Backstreet Boys' new cd broke another record! Surprising, seeing how they now range in age from 26 to 35 and are all married with the average of 1.6 children among them." 

"Jack..." Joey said getting annoyed. 

"Okay, you got me," he paused and deepened his voice, "Pacey Witter, shortstop-extrodinaire and goldenboy-rookie for the Boston Red Sox has been voted as the first string shortstop for the American League in the 2005 Major League Baseball All-Star game. A round of applause for the man!" 

"I knew you knew," Joey laughed. 

"Yeah, well, kinda hard not to when you live in Boston and six of the hometeam's players have just been voted among the best. How is our scholar doing? Holed up in his room trying to write a statement of gratitude?" 

Joey couldn't give away too much, because she couldn't tell Jack about the tumor. "He's jumping up and down, ranting and raving. He's like a little boy on Christmas morning. He is truly, sincerely happy." 

"Wonderful. I can't believe I know the best, or at least most popular shortstop in the world. Every person in the Greater Boston area is going to be crazy today." 

"True. You've got to go now, don't you?" Joey looked at her watch and noticed it said 7:05. 

"I probably should if I'm going to make it by 7:45. I'll talk to you later, okay?" 

"You bet." 

"Tell Pacey beaucoup de felicitations." 

"Many congrats; got it. Talk to you later McPhee." 

"Bye Jo." 

Joey hung up the phone and grabbed her keys and sunglasses, waiting for Pacey at the door. He came tearing down the stairs and flew by Joey in a hurry. 

"What's the rush?" Joey asked following him out. 

"We've got to be there before Jimy and Dan, or I'll be in hot water." 

"Whatever you say. My car or yours?" Pacey stopped and contemplated, looking at his Volvo, then Joey's new BMW. "It really isn't that hard of a decision Pacey," Joey laughed at him. 

"I know, I know. Let's toss for it." This was a regular occurrence when they were both going somewhere. Pacey took out a quarter and flipped it. "Call it in the air Jo." 

"Heads." 

Pacey opened his hand and saw the face of George Washington staring off to his left. "Your car it is. Hand 'em over Potter." 

"No way. You are not driving. You are the most reckless driver in all of Massachusetts." 

"Maybe in the state as a whole, but not in Boston alone. Here, I'm one of the best." 

"Now that's a laugh. I'm driving." 

"And get to Fenway tomorrow? Now way. Do I have to wrestle you for them?" 

"Do as you wish, but I'm not giving them up without a fight." 

"A fight? I'll just tickle you to death," Pacey said coming up behind Joey. 

Joey quickly turned and gave him the keys. "Drive Witter." 

****************************** 

"Beck!" Pacey yelled running down the hall with Joey trailing behind. 

"Wit, took you long enough. Jimy and Dan will be here in, like, two minutes." 

"He had to get the keys first," Joey said nearing them. 

"I see. Written yourself a speech?" 

"No, I thought I'd ad-lib it."

"You rebel." 

"You mean to tell me you wrote something?"

"Like hell I did, what would I say in writing that I couldn't just say?"

"Come on, boys, let's get going," Joey called as she opened the door to the press room.

Flash bulbs exploded, notebooks opened, and microphones were shoved into their faces. When Pacey walked in, all attention turned to him. The boy who had won the hearts of America, and beat the aging Derek Jeter and the hurting Alex Rodriguez had entered the room. 

"Pacey, how do you feel?" Marvelous, Pacey answered in his head. 

"Pacey, did Nomar offer any words of advice?" Yes, but nothing I'm going to share with you, Pacey replied under his breath. 

"Pacey, do you think this warrants a raise in your salary?" No, but even if it did, I wouldn't get it. 

"Pacey, what are you going to do next?" Go to Dr. Johnson's office. 

"Pacey, have you asked Joey to marry you yet?" Ah, now that's a question I like. Heck, I've got the ring, I might as well do it today. 

"Pacey, what was Jimy's reaction?" I haven't seen him yet. 

"Pacey, does this bring back memories of your father?" Sure does. 

"Pacey, we've heard your seeing a doctor. Care to explain?" Nope. 

"Pacey, no suit?" Shawn's not wearing a suit, but you didn't even bother to look at him. 

"Pacey, why do you think you won?" Maybe I'm good, maybe I just look good. I don't know. 

Pacey's mind began to overflow with the millions of questions asked all at once. He decided to play it cool. He made his way past the reporters and up to the stand where the microphones, and his teammates sat. 

"Hello everyone," he began. He knew that every reporter in the room expected him to start by answering the questions thrown at him. He was going to throw them a curveball. "Jimy usually starts these press conferences, and he will, as soon as he gets here. I just wanted to take the stand early to point something out. Shawn Becker, a rookie, was chosen as the second baseman. Pedro Martinez, once known as the rocket, now known to many of us as Dad, is pitching for the twelfth time. Sal Tocci, another rookie, is pitching relief, not that Pedro will need it. Wilton Veras, who might I add is injured at the moment, is the alternate third baseman. Good 'ole Troy O'Leary is thirty-six, and he is the first-string outfielder. All attention turns to me when I walk in the room, but it should really stay on our vets. We're a team, not a group of hot-shots thrown into a room." Pacey took his seat, and looked around at the stunned reporters. 

Bob Lancaster, the reporter from the night before stood. And instead of leaving, he began to clap. Joey was next; she stood and applauded. When Jimy Williams walked in, the entire room was giving Pacey a standing ovation. 

"My reputation precedes me. Thank you Pacey, for whatever you said. Now, to begin this press conference. First, I'd like to say that this year I am retiring. I want to go out while my boys are on top, and this is the year to do it. Second, I want to applaud my team for an amazing sweep against the Yankees. That took a lot more than just luck. Third, congratulations to my six guys, Pedro Martinez, Troy O'Leary, Wilton Veras, Sal Tocci, Shawn Becker, and Pacey Witter. I'll let Pacey go first because I know he has to be somewhere." 

"Thanks Jimy. I have to thank my father first, because without him, wouldn't be here today, and my friend Jen who helped me turn into the player I am. Thank you to all of my friends, teammates and coaches and to everyone in this great city of Boston who voted for me and my teammates. And last, but not least, thanks to my mother, and to the love of my life, Joey."

"Pacey!" A woman from the Boston Herald screeched, trying to get the first question. 

"I'm sorry, I can't read your name tag." 

"Polly Avery, Boston Herald. Do you think this is a sign to the powers that be to give you a raise?" 

"Well Ms. Avery, let me answer that as truthfully as possible. I could care less if I was getting two cents, or two billion dollars, because I'm playing the game I love with the greatest guys anyone could ever hope to play with. Next?" 

"Pacey!?!" A man's hand shot up in the back. "How does this make you feel?" 

"This is an amazing feeling. Truly an indescribable, all very new set of emotions, reserved for such an honor. Next?" 

"Pacey!! When's the big day?" a woman in the third row asked. 

That was the lead-in he had been waiting for. He'd have to milk it for all it was worth. "Excuse me? 'Big day'?" 

"Yes," another woman began, "Have you asked Joey to marry you yet?" 

Pacey knew it was time, but he hadn't quite finished his plan. He looked to Joey, who winked - the sign to say or do whatever he wanted. He took that as an open invitation. He removed the microphone and began rummaging around in his pocket. He took out a black velvet box and made his way off the podium. "If you'll just give me a moment," he fiddled with the top until he had it open, then kneeled in front of Joey. 

"Six years is a long time, to some people. But not to me. The past six years have gone by as if it was just yesterday that I first kissed you. And you must remember, the first time I really kissed you, not the kiss when we were five, was when we were fifteen. It's been actually seven years since then, and I have loved you more and more with each passing day. Joey, I want to spend the next six years with you, and the next six, and the next. I want you to become Josephine Witter, not only in heart, but in everything else. And I know, your cursing the day I was ever born for doing this in public, in front of everyone. I love you Joey, and you can rue the day for the rest of your life, but just think, this was all caught on tape. Joey Potter, will you marry me?" 

Joey looked at Pacey, ready to commit, when Shawn caught her eye. He looked as though he would begin crying at any moment. Joey burst into laughter, with no apparent reason. Pacey looked at her concerned, then followed her eyes to Shawn. He too started to laugh until they were both in hysterics, leaving the rest of the room bewildered. When they had finally calmed down, Joey looked Pacey in the eye. She took his tear-stained face in her hands and kissed him. 

Shawn stepped off the podium and took the microphone from Pacey's limp hand. "I think that's a yes," he said. 

Joey grabbed the microphone from Shawn. "That's a definite yes," she told the world. She passed the microphone back and whispered in Pacey's ear, "I love you Mr. Witter." 

"I love you too Joey," Pacey whispered back. Everything was as it should be. For the moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them together. 

Neither of them knew, or could even imagine what was in store for them next. 

To Be continued


	3. FLOTG 3

****

For Love of the Game   
Ch 3: **_The Longest Day_**

  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Red Sox, or Dawson's Creek; I'm merely using them for entertainment purposes.   


****

Author's Notes: It's taken me forever, but here it is, part 3. Please send feedback, and maybe even include where you think this should go from here. I'm thinking about bringing in an old friend of Pacey's (not one that anyone would know), but I can't decide. Let me know if I should stick with just Shawn, or bring in the other guy. 

"I can't believe you Pacey. You are completely insane," Joey said admiring the ring on her finger. They were in the car, on the way to the hospital, with Shawn trailing them not far behind. 

"I may be crazy, but at least I finally asked you. Everyone has been bugging me to do it for months." 

"Pacey... you knew I was fine with the way things were. You don't have to prove anything to me, and you definitely don't have to prove anything to anyone else." 

"I know that, but it's time. It's definitely time for you to be Mrs. Witter. Now that I've done it, I don't know why it took me so long." 

"Because you're a chicken, and one of the last Great Romantics, but I love you anyway." Joey kissed his cheek and looked back at her hand. The ring was gold, with two diamonds set in the ring, on either side of a tiny sapphire. "Where did you ever find something so beautiful?" 

"In a little town called Capeside, many years ago." Pacey looked over at the blushing Joey, who pinched him. "Ouch. You meant the ring? At Tiffany's, during the conference in New York last November." 

"You've had this for almost eight months?" That meant, Joey figured, that he'd been dancing around asking her for that long. 

"Yes ma'am," he replied. 

"Boy, you are chicken," she laughed. 

"Why thank you for that vote of confidence." 

"You're welcome." 

"I don't think I'm ready Jo," Pacey said, changing the subject quickly. 

"For what?" she asked, completely oblivious. 

"For Johnson, for finding out that I have cancer, for my life to change." 

"Your life just changed an hour ago. It's changing right now, while we're talking about it changing. Don't worry about it so much; it's bound to change, whether you notice it or not." 

"I'm glad I've got you," Pacey said honestly. 

"I'm here forever, no matter what," Joey promised. 

A silence hung over them until Pacey said, "Jo?" 

"Hmm?" 

"I hate to ask you for anything more today, but will you do me a favor in there?" 

"Anything." 

"Will you hold my hand?" 

Joey looked over at him, and saw just how serious he was. "Of course." 

Silence consumed them once again as Pacey signaled and turned into the hospital parking garage. He parked, turned off the engine, and unbuckled, but didn't move to get out. 

"I don't know Jo," he said quietly. 

"Come on. Let's get this over with. It can only get better. In a few minutes, we'll know the whole truth, and we'll be able to do something about it." 

"This is all so quick though. Just yesterday we were here for a physical. Today were here to find out if I'm fatally ill." 

"That's the way things work with us, always have, always will. Let's go." Pacey got out and took Joey's hand when he met her on the other side of the car. 

"Wit, Jo, wait up!" Shawn yelled, running to catch up. 

"Beck, we thought you got off at the wrong exit again," Pacey joked. 

"I may be from Detroit, but I've lived here for three years. I think I know my way around by now." 

"Sure you do," Pacey agreed sarcastically. 

"I am not starting this battle. Changing the subject. So, Joey, how's life?" 

"Eck," Joey began. "Well, my boyfriend is playing in the biggest game in baseball aside from the World Series, my job is actually exciting for the first time in forever, and I was just proposed to. Aside from our current location, and the reason behind it, I'd say life's pretty good. And Shawn, how's life with you?" 

"Good, good. I'm playing in that same aforementioned game, I just told my asshole-agent off, and my girlfriend and I just made up. I'm doing well." 

"You and Britni actually had something to make up about?" Joey asked with mock astonishment. 

"What? You don't believe that we fight?" 

"She has a point," Pacey said. "You and Brit fight about what color sheets to put on the guest bed, and whether to watch "Sleepless in Seattle" or "You've Got Mail". You two are perfect." 

"Ha! Talk about perfect, you two will be on the cover of Modern Maturity in 35 years under the heading, "America's Most Perfect Couple: 41 years and counting." 

"I beg to differ Shawny-boy," Joey argued. "Yeah, it'll be 42 years by then," Pacey said putting his arm around Joey. 

Shawn rolled his eyes and opened the door. Pacey led the other two to the elevator, gripping Joey's hand tightly. They boarded with a middle-aged man and woman, presumably his wife, and Pacey pressed 4. 

The man glanced at his elevator companions, then did the classic double-take. 

"You're Pacey Witter and Shawn Becker," he exclaimed. 

"Yes, we are," Shawn replied indifferently. 

"Wow. You guys had a great game yesterday. Congrats on the win." 

"Thanks," Pacey muttered, embarrassed as usual. 

"Good luck against Baltimore tomorrow. This might just be our year." 

"I sure hope so," Shawn stated. 

"This is us," Joey broke in. 

"Nice meeting you," the man said as they exited. 

"You too," Pacey agreed. Once the door shut, Pacey turned to Joey and lowered his voice. "He saw us get off here." 

"So?" she whispered back. 

"So, the 4th floor is entirely for cancer patients." 

"What does he know? I could have cancer, or you could just be visiting some 10-year-old whose last wish is to meet you two. Don't panic." 

"What is this, a private conference?" Shawn whispered, sticking his head between theirs. 

"Go away," Joey said, pushing Shawn's face back. 

"Ow, Joey," Shawn whined. 

"You are so immature," Joey laughed. 

"Cut it out guys," Pacey ordered as if he were there father. As they neared the receptionist, she looked up and recognized who was nearing her. Panicking, Pacey quickly, and shakily, said, "Witter for Dr. Johnson." 

"Have a seat. He'll see you in just a moment." 

Pacey did as he was told, and sat down in the nearest chair. Joey and Shawn, still bickering, sat on either side of him. "Why are you guys so annoying? Shut up," Pacey said, without looking at either of them. 

Joey and Shawn looked at each other, then at Pacey, then at each other, sharing a confused expression. "You all right Wit?" Shawn asked. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, but you two are bugging the hell out of me." 

"Sorry," Joey mumbled. 

"No, you're always like this, the three of us are always like this. It's just my nerves. I'm getting anxious." 

"Well calm down," Shawn advised. 

"Pacey," Dr. Johnson called, coming out of his office. He saw them and waved them in. "Joey, Pacey, right this way. Shawn, you really should schedule a physical. Your last one was before the last season ended." 

"I'll schedule one right now," Shawn told him, and picked up a magazine as soon as the door shut. 

"Take a seat guys," the doctor told them. "I don't want you to have a heart attack, so I'll get right to the point. I'm actually a little surprised that you could play last night after the biopsy." 

"I know you told me it would hurt, but I couldn't feel a thing." 

"That's because of the morphine I prescribed. In any case, we diagnosed you backwards, doing the biopsy first, so today we're going to start at the beginning. I've scheduled an x-ray and an ultrasound, and you need to have another blood test and another urine test. We'll also have to do some staging to determine if the tumor has spread. But I will tell you now, even without these things, I'm 99.9% sure that you do in fact have cancer." 

"Oh Christ," Pacey mumbled. "Why so early? My father wasn't sick until he turned 50." 

"This isn't necessarily hereditary. I can't explain why it happened, all I can do is tell you that you've got it, and help you get rid of it." 

"I guess that's all I can ask of you." Pacey lowered his head and Joey squeezed his hand. 

Noting Pacey's sullen posture, Dr. Johnson turned to Joey. "When is his next day off?" 

"Today is the 23rd, right?" 

"Yes." 

"Then, if I'm counting right, next Wednesday, after his plane lands from Baltimore." 

"Just half a day?" 

"Yes, unfortunately. He has July 2nd, and then July 5th through the 11th." 

"Pacey," Dr. Johnson said and he looked up, "You're going to have to take yourself off the roster. The tumor has to be removed, and them you have to have chemo, and no one can play baseball like that." 

"But we still don't know for sure if I have cancer." 

"99.9% is for sure. Pacey. And after today, we'll get the other .1% and be positive. Come on, let's get started with that urine test." Dr. Johnson led Pacey and Joey out of the room and closed the door. 

"It'll be all right Pace," Joey whispered. 

Inside, they were both praying that she was right. 

********************** 

Three hours later, Joey and Pacey were again sitting in Dr. Johnson's office. 

"I just viewed everything, with the help of another doctor, and I know exactly what the story is," the doctor told them. 

"Can you wait a minute?" Pacey asked, already getting out of his seat. The doctor nodded, and he turned to Joey. "I'll be back in a sec." He left the room and headed for the waiting area. 

Shawn was reading a Sports Illustrated, almost falling asleep. 

"Shawn," Pacey said tapping him. 

He jerked up. "Damn, don't scare me like that." 

"Sorry." 

"You know, this is my 15th Sports Illustrated. I now know everything there is to know about every sport there is." 

"That's great, but I need a huge favor." 

"What?" 

"I need you to go call Aujourd'hui and get reservations for 7:30, and if they say they can't do it, then go there, and they'll give them to you. I have to do the whole proposing thing right, the way I planned it." 

"Why?" 

"Because, as much as I know Joey will love telling our grandkids that I proposed at a press conference, she deserves it this way. Plus, we both need a break." 

"Okay. Where is this place?" 

"200 Boylston. And can you stop by Alpha Omega in the Prudential Center and pick up the watch I have on hold? It's paid for." 

"Anything else, Daddy Warbucks?" 

"No, that's it. Thanks a lot. I'll call you this afternoon." 

"Do that. 'Later." Shawn left and Pacey returned to the office, his spirits slightly lifted. 

"All right, tell us," he said as soon as he sat down. 

"You have a sarcoma, which is centralized in the right bicep muscle, and it's starting to spread. It has to be removed, and we have to start chemo." 

"How long before you take it out?" 

"Well, it needs to be done soon. You said you have no games after the 4th?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then we'll schedule the operation for the 6th. But Pacey, the All-Star game will be your last for a while." 

"How long will he be out?" Joey asked, knowing how much baseball meant to him. 

"If all goes well, he'll have six weeks of chemo, and that may be it. Theoretically, you could be playing again by September, but I wouldn't count on it. After the chemo, you'll have to do rehab on your arm, not to mention building strength back up; chemo will take a lot out of you. I'll make you a deal. If all goes as planned, and the Red Sox get the Wild Card or the pennant, I'll have you playing in the post season. Deal?" 

"Deal." Pacey shook his hand, hoping Dr. Johnson could hold up his end of the bargain, and knowing that he could hold up his own. 

********************** 

"Joey?" Pacey stepped into the den where she was staring blindly at the computer screen. 

"Yeah?" she didn't look away. 

"You want to go out to dinner?" 

"I guess. When?" She looked at him now, her expression sad. 

Pacey looked at his watch. "7:30, about three and a half hours. Okay?" 

"Yeah. I just need to e-mail a couple of things to the office." 

"All right. I'll be upstairs." 

"Okay." Joey turned back to her computer. 

Pacey stood and watched her for a moment, then went upstairs. He sat down on his bed, picked up the phone, and dialed Shawn's number. 

"Becker." 

"Hey, it's Pacey." 

"I've got your watch and your reservations are set." 

"Great. Thanks. Are you on the road?" 

"On the way to your house to drop off this watch before something happens to it." 

"Take your time, I trust you." 

"That's what I'm afraid of. Come on out, I'm here." 

"Be right down." Pacey put down the phone and went downstairs. "I'll be right back Jo, I'm going out to talk to Walker." 

"Yeah," Joey said distractedly. 

He went outside where Shawn was sitting on the front steps. 

"Here," Shawn said, handing Pacey a jeweler's box. 

"I suppose you want to know what the doctor said." 

"That'd be nice." 

"I've got it, and I'm having it removed on the 6th. I can play until the All-Star game, and then I'm out." 

"Did you call Jimy and tell him?" 

"Not yet. I think I'll tell him tomorrow." 

"I'll tell you right now, we're all going to go crazy without you. I know I can't do half as well with Merloni as I can with you." 

"Believe me, you'll survive." 

"Maybe we will, maybe we won't. Well, I've gotta get home. Enjoy yourself tonight." 

"I will. Thanks again." 

"No prob. See you tomorrow." Shawn stood, got in his car, and drove away while Pacey wondered how to get in the house with the box. He finally decided that she was too engrossed to even notice that he had come back, so he went it and returned to his room. He lay down on his bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. 

Meanwhile, Joey was downstairs, still staring blindly at her computer. It had just hit her: Pacey was sick, and she was terrified. She had already lost her mother, and Pacey had lost his father, both to cancer. Joey had seen firsthand what the disease did, and she was dreading seeing it a third time. What was worse was that she thought Pacey had started to take it too well. He had been anxious and scared before seeing the doctor, but after, he showed absolutely no emotion. 

Joey laughed when she realized that just two days ago, everything had been normal - as normal as possible with the two of them. Now, less than 48 hours later, she was engaged to a dying man. That, she reasoned, was the way things always happened. The irony of it all was that, though she would change the cancer, given the chance, she wouldn't change getting engaged to Pacey for anything. 

Ever since she was little, she had dreamt of her future husband, and that image had turned out to fit Pacey to a T. Joey knew that cancer would eat away at her just as much as it would Pacey. Selfishly, Joey was looking forward to one thing about Pacey's debilitation: he would be at home. She could handle seeing him one day a week for seven months at a time, but she couldn't stand losing him altogether. If Pacey didn't get well, she wouldn't be able to go on. 

"Joey!" Pacey yelled down the stairs startling her. 

"Yeah?" she called back. 

"Are you still online?" he asked. 

"Uh-huh," Joey replied. 

"I never called Dawson this morning. Can you send a letter to him for me?" he asked, running down the stairs. 

"What do you want me to write, and to which address?" 

"Dleery@Leery.com. Just type: I'm an All-Star - want to be my best man? And sign it P-." 

"Got it. So we're telling people?" 

"Well yeah, we can't let the press do everything." 

"What about the cancer?" 

"We'll have to tell them before the operation, obviously, because everyone will wonder where I disappeared to." 

"I suppose your right." 

"You don't want to say anything?" 

"It's not that..."she trailed off. 

"Then what is it?" 

"Nothing." 

"Joey, tell me." 

"It's nothing Pacey, I just think maybe we should keep quiet until the last possible second, except with your mother." 

"Okay, then that's what we'll do."

"Sounds like a plan. You know, my agent's going to kill me when he watches ESPN tonight."

"Why? All you did was ask your girlfriend to marry you in front of every major news outlet in the country." In spite of herself, Joey instantly let go of the cancer discussion in her head. She forgot about it completely; Pacey always had that affect on her. 

"Exactly. That's a big no-no, very unconventional." 

"Since when have we been conventional? We were discussing frozen sperm last night. The night before, you were out playing baseball until 2 am. We shall never be normal my dear." 

"Don't speak too soon, love." 

"Where are you taking me tonight?" 

"That is a surprise." 

"You bug the hell out of me sometimes Witter." 

"I know. I'm gonna go back to my nap now. I had just fallen asleep when I remembered about Dawson." 

"I think I'll come with you," Joey said standing up and taking Pacey's hand. 

"I don't know about you, but I intend on actually sleeping." 

"And I intend on watching you," Joey replied, pulling Pacey up the stairs. 

To Be Continued


End file.
